Susan looked at her in confusion. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted me to look."
"I... I forgot to bring the sketches," Camilla lied, a flush creeping up her neck. "I'll take some pictures and send them to you when I get home."
Once she returned from Susan's atelier, Camilla snapped photos of her designs and sent them to her.
After a moment's hesitation, she selected two and forwarded them to Lambert.
She added a brief text: *Mr. White, would a style like this be acceptable to you?*
The moment she hit send, she remembered he was supposed to be in a transnational meeting.
He probably wouldn't reply for hours.
Yet, the very next second, her screen lit up with his response.
Lambert: *Acceptable.*
Since he had no objections, Camilla eagerly pulled out her pens and began refining the details.
But wait... wasn't he in an important meeting? Or was he just the kind of boss who texted through board meetings?
She assumed it was the latter.
She had no idea that Lambert was currently lying flat on his back in bed.
It was barely nine o'clock, an insanely early hour for him to turn in.
He had driven straight home and stepped directly into an icy shower.
Standing under the freezing spray, just the memory of Camilla's proximity had made his blood run hot.
Overpowered by the punishing pulse of the water, he had taken care of the aching, primal need she had ignited in him.
But even after finding physical release, Lambert felt no real pleasure or satisfaction.
He hated losing control like that, but his body's violent reaction to her was completely outside his jurisdiction.
A dreadful premonition settled over him: once she finished this suit, she might sever their contact completely.
How the hell was he supposed to get close to her? How was he supposed to romance her?
He was completely out of his depth.
For the first time in his life, he found himself lying awake in bed at a ridiculously early hour, his mind spinning in chaotic circles.
That was exactly when Camilla's text came through.

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